


The Lost Letter

by flyingllamas



Series: Tales from a lifetime ago (and ones to never be) [7]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/flyingllamas
Summary: A letter from the past finds its way into the present, where it is sorely needed.





	The Lost Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Daily AU's prompt on tumblr, found here: http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/171628453238/letter-found-in-an-old-notebook-au
> 
> Loosely beta'd by Kangoo and Hunterx700.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

The lord of the Illidari has few material things to his name. It was not the way of his people to hold onto such things to begin with, but most had one or two sentimental items in their possession. Even his Illidari followers have reminders of their previous lives, reminding them what they fought for at the end of all creation.

 

Illidan has one such thing he keeps on his person, when he finally leaves Azeroth for a greater purpose.

 

When he found himself freed from his prison once more, for death is merely another jail for once such as him,his thoughts split in two directions:

 

The first cursed Maiev for her machinations, ever torturing him and trapping him.

 

The second wondered at the fate of a companion long lost to the sands of time and the shrouding mists of death.

 

No one spares much thought when he disappears from the base camp at the Broken Shore one day; truly, it was expected that his capricious nature lend itself to such spontaneity and none doubted in his return. Seemingly, the same was true of those waiting for him at his destination.

 

Two sets of cursed green eyes watch his descent to one of the mosaiced terraces on the Isle of Quel’Danas. Neither elf seems inclined to attack him, but neither make to lower their weapons from ready. Halduron Brightwing, the warden of the isle, finally steps forward after a long, tense moment.

 

“I would ask your purpose here,” says the Ranger, “if I did not already know it. Be swift; your presence is not welcome here. I would have you struck down where you stand if not for…”

 

He shakes his head and steps aside.

 

“Do not tarry,” he warns.

 

Illidan says nothing in return, not even to snarl at the useless threat thrown his way. He only inclines his head and steps past the two elves, but not before catching the eye of the other elf.

 

Grand Magister Rommath is unchanged from before Illidan’s recent imprisonment; he has been a familiar, haunting presence in the shadows of the campaign against the Legion. His gaze holds the same judgement now as it did on the shore; it holds the accusation that all that happened in this once brilliant magisterium is Illidan’s fault, and Illidan’s fault alone. Still, Illidan nods his head in greeting and Rommath returns it. Both know what suffering he will find in the room beyond this terrace. Both hold it near to their hearts.

 

Illidan pushes aside the purple silk draped across the doorway and steps inside Kael’thas’ quarters of Magister’s Terrace. It is unchanged, but he expected that. Much of the magisterium had been cleaned and rebuilt, repurposed for the renewed and bolstering forces of Silvermoon. This was more personal, the last bastion of memory for Quel’Thalas’ fallen prince and dearest companion of the few remaining leaders of the Sin’dorei. He is glad it is kept as such, even though casting a glance about the room that was most likely his study twists a knife of agony in Illidan’s heart.

 

Everything here is so painfully Kael’thas and at the same time, so painfully not.

 

Feathers from Kael’thas’ precious phoenix illuminate the room softly, ever burning even years after the prince’s demise. A collection of them, braided and bound together, sit on Kael’thas’ desk, illuminating whatever final tome the prince had been poring over prior to his death.

 

Illidan carefully sidesteps the piles of tomes and scrolls scattered about the room. He never faulted Kael’thas for the messiness of his study in the Outland, for the knowledge he held in his mind could not find home in all the bookcases in his possession. The same held true here: the shelves covering every wall of the room overflowed with knowledge, some undoubtedly ancient, some penned by Kael’thas himself.

 

A blanket lay cast off over the back of the chair at his desk, red and soft to Illidan’s touch as he carefully ran his hand over it. Kael’thas often fell asleep at his desk and someone usually came by to cover his shoulders at least as the lost prince grasped for a small amount of precious sleep. Illidan himself had done so more than once and had also carried Kael’thas back to bed more than once before the prince could give himself a permanent crick in his neck.

 

At the same time, not all is right. So many scraps of parchment litter the room, balled up or torn to shreds from frustration. Fel scorches still faintly gleam from the floor and there’s a shattered glass at the base of a wall, possibly where it had been thrown.

 

These remnants are not what Illidan is here for. He carefully pushes aside the rolls of parchment and tomes on the desk, hoping beyond all hope that Kael’thas had left the object of his search there. At last, he finds it: a leather journal, wrapped several times in a string to keep its contents safe. He will not read it here, though. What is in this journal is best read when he has the time to process it. As is, he is stepping on the toes of the Ranger General and Grand Magister with his presence here. He tucks the journal into a pouch at his waist and hastily leaves the room, trying to ignore the claw marks on the floor, surely caused by Kael’thas in the midst of his addiction.

 

Rommath and Halduron lean on the banister of the terrace outside, shoulder to shoulder, when he exits. Their quiet conversation immediately halts when Halduron hears the ring of his hooves against the mosaic tiles.

 

“You found what you came for then?” Halduron asks. Illidan nods and notices the red about Rommath’s eyes. Even here, not removed the consequences of the fallen prince and nearly a decade past, the grief is fresh. “Shorel’aran, Lord Illidan, and good luck in your fight against the Legion. Do not return here.”

 

Illidan launches himself into the air with a powerful downstroke of his wings. From above the terrace as he is now, he can see the mosaic outside of Kael’thas’ study forms a phoenix.

 

He does not have time to look at the contents of the journal until after the fall of Antorus. Still, he keeps it by his side throughout all the battles he faces and it is still in the pouch when he stands before the Titanic Pantheon.

 

In one of the times after he weakens Sargeras to the point of death, he retreats to the edge of the prison upon the Seat of the Pantheon as the fallen titan recovers. After a long moment of hesitation, he withdraws the journal from the pouch at his side and unwraps the bindings.

 

Kael’thas always had carried this with him when he was Illidan’s side. Illidan was never quite sure how he did not fill it up, but he is glad it survived even when his prince did not. A feather of Al’ar is curled on the inside of the front cover, preserved by some magic, and Illidan carefully strokes it. It is warm to the touch.

 

The first fourth of the journal is before they met. Kael’thas occasionally wrote down his thoughts surrounding his father’s death, the destruction of his lands, and the fate of his people. Curiously, there were some doodles in the margins when words alone would not suffice for the frustrations the young prince felt. Illidan is amused to see a doodle of who he presumes to be Garithos, scratched out harshly, in one corner of the book.

 

_First Arthas stole my love, and now the lives of my people…_

 

_So many dead, so much lost. Father, what would you do?_

 

_... and Rommath set fire to the pyre today, since I could not..._

 

_Damn that Garithos! How dare…_

 

_Turned away again...no Dalaran to return to..._

 

_...Al’ar’s plumage seems so dull these days, I fear he is fading…Perhaps, I, too, will fade…_

 

_This need, this addiction, itches in my bones. I wake at night, gasping for breath, for my mana has faded while I slept..._

 

_There’s some hope today at least, in the most unexpected way. A naga named Vashj..._

 

_I’m going to meet a literal legend!_

 

The next section is as he expected. The prince has flattering words to say about him after their meeting, and almost to the time of Illidan’s next imprisonment and Kael’thas’ betrayal. It was no surprise to him that Kael’thas seemed to harbor attraction for him; Illidan, even in his madness, felt the same way until he could no longer from the pressing paranoia destroying his mind.

 

_IIlidan’s power is apparent. He is, perhaps, the best ally we could have hoped for in these times…_

 

_...he is ruthless in battle, but gentle towards my people and towards me…_

 

_I will not mention this to him, for nothing could ever become of it. Still, I enjoy his presence when I can._

 

_The Illidari have scattered across this strange land. My people and I have taken up in the area known as the Netherstorm…_

 

_...but Lord Illidan comes only infrequently. I fear he has forgotten my people’s plight._

 

Kael’thas detailed his growing worries over Illidan’s insanity and the fate of his people. Without the vial of from the Well of Eternity promised for him, he feared that his people were damned. His entries grew increasingly scattered and bitter towards Illidan. The only real shred of happiness or hope Illidan could see happened at the point at which he sold his soul, and the souls of his people, to Kil’jaeden.

 

_...still we do not have access to the vial of Eternity, as promised…_

 

_How long with the power from the Naaru sustain us? I fear it is not long enough._

 

_...heard rumors of Illidan’s growing instability. He intends to double cross us…_

 

_I will stand by idly no longer. Our souls may be damned, but at least we may be saved._

 

_...can no longer love him. He is more beast than elf at this point, I wish it were not so…_

 

_Illidan, what has happened to my dearest companion?_

 

_I have accepted Kil’jaeden’s offer. We shall be saved._

 

Illidan slams the journal shut, hastily rewraps it, and shoves it back in his pouch. Then, after second thought, he retrieves it once more. He must know the rest, even if it pains him.Even if he were the one that damned him.

 

Even if he knows the end of it.

 

Kael’thas’ thoughts become more fractured as he gives into the madness from the Legion’s power. Rarely are there complete sentences; instead there are just words and frustrated scribbles as the fallen king of Silvermoon attempted to chronicle his thoughts.

 

_Never should have done this._

 

_No solution._

 

_Addiction worse._

 

_Illidan?_

 

His name is written more than anything though, fractured as the prince’s mind.

 

The final pages of the journal are blank. But they are not the end, as he finds. As he pages through them, an envelope falls out into his lap.

 

 _Illidan_ , is written on it in Kael’thas’ distinctive script.

 

He hesitates. Was this written by the broken Kael’thas? Was this something he was meant to find? Truly it does matter at this point; Illidan has already pried into the last Sunstrider’s thoughts in this journal. What is one more thing?

 

Illidan set the journal aside carefully and opens the envelope with a careful claw.

 

_Dearest Illidan,_

 

 _I suspect that you be the one reading this, far after I am gone from this world. You will probably seek this journal if you survive the times to come, as unlikely as that may be, for you knew I carried it and will wish to know_ _why_ _I betrayed you as I did._

 

 _The first thing I will say to you, to disallow this wound from festering any longer, is that it was necessary to betray you as I did. I could not only think of myself, as_ _prince_ _king of my people.Whatever Frostmorne did to you in Northrend addled your senses and our friendship beyond repair. I wish for you to find peace from your troubled mind, whether it be from magic salve or the release of death itself. I could not rest idly while my people suffered around me; thus I hoped to double-cross the Deceiver and the Legion. I know now this to not be possible, but my doing so was not for power, only for my people. I only wish that you had not betrayed us, so that I may have remained by your side._

 

_The second thing is that, if not King of my people, I would have never left you. It was never a choice for me, though, born into my station as I was. Were I just a magister, I would have stayed by your side through your insanity, until the very bitter end. You were my dearest companion, and dearer to my heart than any being in this vast universe. Even in your madness I loved you, though I knew it would never be returned in kind. I suspect you knew though you never faulted me for feeling as such.Thank you, for allowing me to remain by your side as I did._

 

_Perhaps in another life, we can meet once more. Perhaps in another life, we may not be so harmed by those we love that we can seek it elsewhere. Perhaps in another life, you will be mine and I, yours._

 

_I pray now, as I write this letter, that you find what you seek in life. I pray for your sanity, your happiness, and your survival._

 

_May the light keep you safe and well, Illidan._

 

_Kael’thas_

 

Illidan reads through the letter twice more before folding it up and tucking it inside its envelope once more, and that into the journal. He hears Sargeras starting to stir across the Seat of the Pantheon once more and knows that his duty calls to him. Part of his heart settles mournfully in chest; it mourns what once was, what could have been, but its fire has been extinguished by the answers within the letter. He knows now that he can face this eternity, with certainty and free from regret.

 

Perhaps, as Kael’thas said, they will meet once more...in another life.


End file.
